Bruises
by bisbon
Summary: Lisbon gives Jane some bruises, and he gives her some back. How is a single weekend going to change them? The first chapter is rated M for strong language only.
1. Chapter 1

**B****R****U****I****S****E****S  
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**Hello! This story takes place in season 4, not too long after the 'War of the Roses' episode. It's rated M because the F-word is used two or three times. I don't own this show, of course. And my only promise for this fic is that there _will _be Jisbon. ;) **

**Summary: Lisbon gets fed up with Jane. Events follow. **

**The summary is crap, I know.. but I don't want to give too much away. I hope you give this fic a try anyways. **

**Alright I'll shut up now.. on to the story! **

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><p>Teresa Lisbon was well known throughout the CBI for her unique demeanor. <em>Cool and calm,<em> people around her labeled it._ St. Teresa, the cool and calm martyr of Serious Crimes._ Nothing could push the woman off the edge. She was capable of getting annoyed, and irritated, and angry, but she always kept her cool when it happened. This made her a good agent.

It also made her a worthy adversary for the (also famous) consultant, Patrick Jane, who was quite a handful. Jane sometimes made it seem like it was his purpose to attract as many lawsuits and angry politicians as possible. He closed cases, but at a high price - although not high in terms of money. It was a wonder how Lisbon could put up with his stubbornness, his antics, and his constant demand for tea and blueberry muffins. She kept him in line with an iron fist. On her watch, the CBI stayed afloat amid his risky, unorthodox methods.

However, the fist eventually began to rust. Teresa found herself being more and more lenient with the consultant, one month after the next. It started after the whole Timothy Carter fiasco. Perhaps getting shot had softened her up. Perhaps she felt sympathetic towards Jane. After all, he had shot the wrong man. Timothy Carter had been a twisted, evil person, but he had not been the one Jane had been hunting for.

Slowly, cautiously, Jane begun to confide in her more, trusting her with all the details he gathered about Red John. He did make some bad choices along the way, and she scolded him for doing so, but did little else to reprimand him. Lisbon's grip on the man, her ability to keep him in line, deteriorated over time, until she no longer felt like she was in charge of him. She couldn't make him follow the rules. She couldn't stop him from doing dangerous things. She couldn't get him to respect her authority. This was incredibly troubling.

In a typical Lisbon fashion, however, she kept cool and calm. She dealt with it. She got over his stupid stunts. She ignored his ego. She pushed his stinging words into the back of her mind, forgetting about them and moving on to other things. Jane closed cases. That was all she needed.

At least, that's what she told herself. It wasn't long before she realized how wrong she really was.

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><p>Jane stood, speechless, his mouth agape as he witnessed the woman transform into a person he had never seen before. She was furious, clawing at him madly and shouting so loudly that he thought her little lungs would burst. Her usually pale skin had reddened to a shade of strawberry, and her big green eyes, once gentle and friendly, were glowing with anger. Her whole office shook with her rage.<p>

He had no idea what he had done wrong. Well, yes, he had let a criminal free - Erica - but he had done much more severe things than that. And Erica wasn't even dangerous. She was probably thousands of miles away by now, in some Caribbean paradise. It was highly unlikely that she would return and go on a killing spree. Erica wasn't the reason why Lisbon was so mad, was she? What had really pushed Lisbon off the edge?

Jane could no longer hear what she was roaring at him - she probably couldn't hear herself either. Her words came out like an explosion. They were jumbled and scrambled, making absolutely no sense. But the woman continued on with her tirade, marching around her office and gesticulating wildly, trying to make points that were unintelligible to the consultant. For such a small person, she had a very big voice. If he listened hard enough, Jane could make out a few of her words. He picked up mostly name-calling, insults, and multiple profanities. They were all aimed at him. The woman was definitely not St. Teresa at the moment.

Lisbon hadn't laid her hands on him yet - she was attacking him verbally, but not physically. She wouldn't hurt him, would she? Jane's eyes darted down to her waist, and he let out a small sigh of relief when he saw that her gun was not there. It wasn't like he was expecting her to shoot him or anything, but in the state she was currently in, nothing could be ruled out. Because this wasn't his Lisbon. This was a Lisbon he had never seen before, and she looked extremely dangerous.

She was slamming her fists down on the desk now, sending various pencils and paperclips rolling away onto the floor. Jane stared at them as they fell, his feet glued to the ground below him and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was a first. He was the one who didn't know what to say.

He was glad, though, that it was late. The entire building was empty except for the two of them. Nobody else was there to witness Lisbon lose herself. She had a reputation for her control and self-discipline. People respected her for it. He didn't want anybody to see her break down.

Lisbon was still shouting, though her voice was starting to get hoarse. She had stopped pounding and was now waving her hands desperately in the air, her knuckles red from striking the desk.

Jane knew he had to do something. He couldn't just stand there and let the woman rant on until she fainted of exhaustion, or went totally insane. He had to calm her down. After that, they could talk it out. Surely it was an issue that could be easily solved with some work.

He unglued himself from his spot next to the couch, and walked with heavy feet into the danger zone, towards the still raging woman. He caught her arms in midair.

"Lisbon," he said.

She froze, silent. Her eyes bore into his as he tightened his grip on her arms, afraid she would escape. She made no attempt to.

Unsure of what to do or say next, Jane acted on instinct and wrapped his arms around her, pulling the woman into a warm hug.

Unfortunately, he forgot to recall that she was not a hugger.

She whipped out of his grasp immediately, even more furious than before, if that was even possible. Two small hands landed on his chest and shoved him backwards. Another stream of profanity rushed out of her mouth. The consultant fell backwards onto the floor with a thud.

Now, Jane was starting to get angry too. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, rising from the floor. "What do you want?"

Lisbon let out a mocking laugh. "Ha, you're asking _me?_" She pointed a thumb towards herself. "It's funny, Jane, because for the past few months I have been asking myself the same question about _you._" Her thumb curled back into her fist, and she jabbed an accusing index finger at him. "What is wrong with _you_? What do _you_ want?"

Jane backed up a step. "I want to know why you're so angry."

"I am angry because of you." She retreated her finger, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice was getting softer now, returning to the way it usually was. It seemed like she was calming down.

Jane nodded. "Well, yes, I figured that part out while you were busy calling me a jackass. What have I done to make you so angry?"

"Everything," she hissed.

"You're not helping," he said.

"You're an asshole," she replied.

"You've already called me that at least seventy times today. Really Lisbon, what's the matter?"

"That's one of the reasons why I'm angry. Because you're an asshole."

"Oh."

"You're also selfish."

"Okay."

"And disrespectful."

"Okay."

"Stubborn."

Jane nodded but still couldn't understand her rage. They had known each other for years. He couldn't help being stubborn, or selfish, or disrespectful. Or an asshole. It was just the way he was. Did she want him to suddenly become somebody he was not?

"Lisbon, I've always been like that."

She nodded. "I know. But not to such a high degree. It's gone way too far, Jane."

"You could have just spoken to me about this, instead of going all monster-Lisbon on me."

"I did. Well, I tried. You never listened."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

However, Jane was not convinced.

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Uh, yeah, I think."

"You're not angry about Erica?"

Her expression hardened again at the mention of the woman's name. "Of course I'm angry about Erica."

"You didn't say so."

"Dammit Jane. Just shut up."

"Look Lisbon, I understand." he took a step closer to her. "But you don't have to worry. I won't go running off with her. Really. And we'll catch her eventually. She's good at hiding, but she can't do it forever. You don't have to be jealous."

Lisbon frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Erica. I know you're jealous of her. It's perfectly understandable. You're a woman, after all."

For a fraction of a second, Jane saw the look on her face change back to one of anger, and disgust. Then Lisbon raised her right hand, and promptly slapped him - _hard_ - across the face. She didn't say anything, which was actually more frightening than when she was shouting at him.

Jane's head reeled back, spinning. The flesh on his face stung, _burned,_ felt as if it was about to just wriggle off.

He let out a cry. "_Agh_.."

Lisbon stood silent, but still angry. Her eyes glowed once again, and her hair disheveled. Her hands were balled up into tight fists at her sides. She was seething.

Jane was angry again, too. "What was that for?" he said, rubbing his cheek, which was starting to turn very red. "I was just telling the truth!"

"You were being an ass!" Lisbon exclaimed. "That's all you've been, lately! An ass!" She threw her hands up in frustration. "You're lucky all I did was slap you."

"Am I not allowed to give my own opinions? I thought that you were jealous. It seemed like you were. Sorry I was wrong, but it's not like you are always right! Seriously, Lisbon, you-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Jane froze in surprise. It wasn't just her use of the F-word (a word that Teresa Lisbon _never_ used) that caused him to do so. It was the look in her eyes. Lisbon looked like she was about to do something much worse than slapping him. He fell silent immediately.

She glared at him, turning red once again. "If you ever listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now. So I'm asking you to shut the fuck up for once, and listen, alright? Jane, you have been behaving like an arrogant, stuck-up bastard for the past couple of months. You don't give a damn about anybody but yourself. You are selfish, you're disrespectful, you're stubborn. It's hard for us to do our jobs with you like this. I'm the one in charge. Not you. If you screw up, then it's me who has to fix the mess. I can't follow you around all day, making sure you don't do anything stupid. Even if I did, you'd manage to do stupid things anyway. You know what the rules are. I want you to respect them."

Lisbon let out a breath, feeling a bit better now that she had released the thoughts she had kept bottled up for so long. Her eyes fixed steadily on Jane, waiting for his response.

He was exasperated. "For God's sakes, Lisbon! I've always been like this! Are you asking me to be somebody I'm not?"

Lisbon sighed, disappointed. He didn't understand her point at all. "I'm asking you to think of people other than yourself."

"I do!"

"Well it sure doesn't seem like it!"

"What do you expect me to do? Be just like _you_?" The man attempted to mimic her voice. "Yes _sir_. Thank you, _sir_. Right away,_ sir_. Of course I followed protocol,_ sir_. Case closed, _sir_. Everything is taken care of,_ sir._ If everyone was like you, we would get nothing done!"

As the words left his lips, he realized that it was not the right thing to say. Before Jane got a chance to take it back, the woman swung at him, landing a punch square in the face.

She striked him with such force that he lost his balance, staggering a few steps back before his legs gave way under him. He crumpled to the ground once again. Only this time, he didn't get up.

The consultant lost consciousness as his head hit the cold floor. The last thing Jane saw was his boss' face, hand over her mouth, alarmed. 

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><p><strong>Well, that's all for now - thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews would be super lovely. Chapter 2 is coming up soon. :)<br>**


	2. Chapter 3

**This barely counts as a chapter - it's so short. Sorry. I'll have the fourth chapter up shortly.  
>As always, thank you for all of the reviews!<br>**

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><p>When Jane woke up, he was lying in the backseat of a car. He was sweating heavily, shocked and admittedly a little frightened. It took a while for him to convince himself that it had all been just a dream. The images of the forest were still vivid in his head. He could still feel the pain in his muscles. Though, the latter was probably from getting beaten up.<p>

As he came to his senses, he realized that the car belonged to Lisbon. She was in the driver's seat, unaware that he was now conscious. He wasn't sure whether or not he should speak up. Still lying down, he did.

"Lisbon?"

She jumped in her seat, startled. "Jeeze, Jane." He could hear her breathe a sigh of relief. Her voice was soft again - she wasn't angry anymore.

He sat up in the backseat, groaning as a pain shot through his head. "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital."

"Why?"

"So they can check and see if you have a concussion."

Jane clambered over the middle storage compartment and into the passenger side seat. He didn't bother to buckle in the seat belt. "I don't have a concussion."

Lisbon didn't look at him. Instead, she kept her stare aimed straight ahead, on the highway in front of them. He could tell that she felt guilty. She said nothing.

"I don't have a concussion, Lisbon," he repeated.

"You were unconscious for over twenty minutes," she said softly, after a long pause. "And it's better safe than sorry."

She still didn't look at him. Jane tried to see his reflection in the car's mirror, but could not due to the late hour. It was almost one in the morning. His face hurt, a lot, and he guessed that it was also bruised. He'd probably have a black eye for a while, at the least. Jane put a hand to his cheek and winced as the pain elevated.

He switched his focus back to Lisbon, who seemed to be very focused on driving, although the highway was nothing but a dull, straight path with barely any cars.

He noticed that she had gotten tense. Her grip on the steering wheel was too tight, her body looked too stiff. She was angry at herself now, for hurting him. For losing her trademarked cool and calm. It hadn't been her fault, he thought to himself. _I was the reason why she was so mad in the first place. I should apologize._

He did.

"I'm sorry I was an ass."

She was surprised, but didn't show it. Lisbon thought she was hearing things at first. Did Patrick Jane just apologize to her? He never apologized. She had never heard him say the word "sorry" before. She never thought she would. The woman finally turned her head to look at him.

"I'm sorry I punched you so hard."

Jane laughed and smiled, although it made his face hurt even more. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I've been punched much, much harder."

Lisbon smirked. "No you haven't."

"Yes I have!"

"Noo."

"Yeah, you're right. I haven't."

They both chuckled in spite of themselves.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4 will be up very soon! Thanks for reading.<strong>


	3. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

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><p>The emergency room was almost empty when the two of them arrived. Still, they were asked to take a seat and wait for their names to be called. Lisbon counted one, two, three other people in the waiting area. Jane excused himself to the restroom.<p>

The restroom reeked of the same clean, antiseptic smell that the waiting area possessed. Bright fluorescent lighting flickered above the green stalls. Jane actually did have to use the toilet, but his main purpose was to see his own reflection.

He flinched as he approached the bathroom mirror. He had been right about the bruises - spots of his face were starting to turn a deep, vibrant shade of purple, especially his left cheek. Wow. He was going to look like a walking eggplant for a while.

Fascinated, he leaned closer and traced the purple spots with his fingertips. Though they barely grazed his skin, they sent waves of pain rushing through him.

"Ouch," he muttered to himself. He made a mental note to ask the doctor for painkillers. Strong ones. Then he washed his hands with the smelly hospital soap, trying not to think too much. His head was starting to throb, and his vision blurred on many occasions. The single sink in front of him suddenly doubled. He had four hands. Perhaps Lisbon had been right about going to the hospital.

He stood with his hands under the automatic dryer, nonchalant as the warm air blasted his skin. His hands kind of hurt, too, from getting knocked down. Thankfully, the pain wasn't as severe as his head. Or was that a bad thing? Maybe it would have been better to have bad pain in the limbs, and slightly lighter pain in the head. After all, the brain would be in less danger.

He was confusing himself with all of the thoughts. "_Shut up,_" a voice inside his head, which sounded uncannily like Lisbon's - it probably was - scolded. "_You're going to make your head hurt even more._"

"Okay, okay," he said to himself, just as another man walked into the restroom. Jane looked incredibly silly standing there, hands stretched out under a dryer that had stopped working long ago, talking to himself. "Oops," he muttered, disoriented. He nodded at the man and briskly left the restroom.

Back in the waiting room, Lisbon was starting to get sleepy. The caffeine from her coffee was wearing off. Jane took a seat next to her and watched as she blinked drowsily. "What is taking them so goddamn long?" she complained. "There's barely anybody here."

Jane checked the wall clock and chuckled. "Lisbon, it's only been about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes too long, if you ask me."

They were called in by a nurse a few minutes later. She was a young blonde woman, probably around Van Pelt's age. Her name-tag read "Nurse Susie." Nurse Susie did not hide her awe as she saw Jane's purple bruises.

"My God!" she gasped. "Did you get mugged, sir?"

Lisbon almost laughed out loud, while Jane managed a weak smile. "Not exactly."

The nurse took Jane's height and weight, although Lisbon could not see how they were relevant to a concussion. Then she sat him down in the exam room, and asked many questions. "Can you describe to me what happened?"

Jane glanced at Lisbon. Pointing a finger towards her accusingly, he smirked. "She beat the living daylights out of me."

Nurse Susie was surprised. Usually it was the woman who was the victim, not the man. She was curious about what had driven this Teresa Lisbon lady to leave such a mark on the guy. However, keeping things professional, she didn't ask.

"That's an exaggeration," Lisbon protested. "I hit him, but most of his injuries were sustained when he lost his balance and fell."

Susie nodded. "Do you feel any pain, Mr. Jane?"

"Yes. Everything hurts." He smiled, making a joke. "Especially my dignity."

Lisbon, who was leaning against the wall opposite the exam bed, rolled her eyes. She suppressed a smile, although the corners of her mouth curved up a millimeter or two.

"Sorry about your dignity, Mr. Jane. How bad is the pain, from a scale of one to ten?"

"Eh, it's pretty bad from my neck up. Probably a nine -"

"If it were a ten he would be on the floor crying," Lisbon interrupted.

"Yes, what Teresa said is true. So from my neck up, nine. Everywhere else is maybe a five or six?"

The nurse scribbled away his responses on a yellow notepad, nodding as Jane spoke. Her eyebrows shot up when Lisbon told her how long Jane had been unconscious.

"_Twenty_ minutes?"

"Yes.. well he woke up for about five minutes at first, but then he blacked out again and he didn't wake up until we were on the way to the hospital."

Jane was surprised himself - he didn't remember waking up the first time. He only remembered the second time, in Lisbon's car.

Nurse Susie scrawled down the twenty-minute note in big letters, underlining it several times. "You will probably have to get an MRI, Mr. Jane, to check for brain damage. The doctor will be here shortly to discuss this with you."

Jane nodded. "Thank you."

"Have a nice evening," the nurse said to the two of them, although it was technically morning - the clock read 1:43am. They bid her goodbye and she left, closing the door behind her.

Jane sat atop the exam bed, swinging his feet impatiently. "You know, concussions go away on their own, Lisbon. Even if I _did_ have one, hypothetically, we would still be wasting our time here."

Lisbon hadn't moved from her spot against the whitewashed wall. She rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Better safe than sorry," she said, repeating her earlier words.

Jane groaned. "Well, I'm hungry. So after they come in here and tell us a bunch of mumbo jumbo medical babble, I think you owe me dinner."

At the mention of food, Lisbon's stomach growled. She was reminded of the fact that neither one of them had eaten since the afternoon. Dinner was an enticing proposal. "Deal," she said.

"Good." Jane fidgeted, trying to achieve a comfortable position on the exam bed. It was a lost cause. "These things are fit for cavemen," he declared. "Couldn't they have included a cushion, at least?"

Lisbon laughed. "You remind me of Tommy. He got concussions all the time, and he was always like this at the hospital." She stuck her nose up and mimicked her brother's voice. "Reese, this chair makes my butt hurt. Reese, the lights are too bright in here. Reese, I'm hungry. Reese, I'm sleepy. Reese, that nurse smelled like a wet dog."

Jane laughed with her, forgetting about his hunger and pain. "So I see you're used to this, then."

She nodded and then shrugged. "Yeah. Well, I was. It's been a while."

Lisbon checked the clock. Eight minutes had gone by. The doctor better hurry it up, she thought - Jane's mention of food had reminded her stomach of how empty it was.

"Lisbon?"

She switched her focus back to him. He was now looking at her with a serious expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

Jane hesitated at first. "I really am sorry for my behavior."

God, it still felt weird hearing the man apologize. Was this a one-time thing, or would it become more common? She still hadn't adjusted to apologetic Jane. Apologetic Jane was like having a full Rigsby, or a talkative Cho. Lisbon wasn't sure how to reply, really. So she stuck with a simple "It's okay."

In reality, she knew that it hadn't been just his fault. She had overreacted. If she hadn't hit him, they wouldn't be in the hospital. She thought about this, but didn't say anything.

There was a slight knock on the door as it opened, and a somewhat elderly man entered the exam room. "Hello," he said, his voice gruff. "I'm Dr. Morris."

The doctor shook hands with the both of them, and got right down to business. "Mr. Jane," he said curtly. "It seems like you have a grade III concussion."

It wasn't much of a surprise to either Jane or Lisbon. He nodded, and she was silent. Dr. Morris continued on.

"Grade III is the most severe form of concussion. You told the nurse that you were unconscious for.. twenty minutes? Yes, that's right. Well, twenty minutes is an unusually long time to be blacked out. It's a miracle how relatively unharmed you are. But just in case, we will have to have you undergo an MRI. You don't seem to have any brain damage, but an MRI is needed to confirm that."

Twenty minutes later, Jane was lying on the machine's platform, dressed in an ugly green hospital gown. A nurse injected him with something before leaving the room. A tinted glass wall separated him from Lisbon and Dr. Morris, both of whom were in the computer room adjacent to the one housing the MRI machine. The doctor dictated instructions to him through an intercom.

"Stay still," he said. "Relax your muscles and stay as still as possible. This is to make sure we get a clear scan of your head."

"Whatever you say, doc."

As he said this, the machine started to whir and the platform retreated into the tunnel - which was also white and lined brightly with lights. There was a sudden itch on Jane's leg, but he resisted the temptation to scratch it.

"Okay, it's going to start scanning now, Mr. Jane."

The machine did exactly as it was told, and before he knew it Jane was free of the thing. The first thing he did afterwards was scratch his leg.

The nurse handed him his clothes, and he was more than eager to hand her back the hospital gown. After changing, he joined Lisbon and the doctor in the computer room.

A black and white picture was displayed on the computer screen - Jane's brain, captured by the machine. Dr. Morris and another man, who called himself Dr. Foster, examined the images.

"Mr. Jane, your brain seems to be fine," the latter doctor said after a couple of minutes. "It's very abnormal of it to keep you unconscious for so long, but according to these scans there is no need for further treatment."

Lisbon was squinting at the pictures, trying to make sense of them. They looked like nothing but irregular black and white blobs to her. How could they understand this? No wonder doctors were paid so much.

She was relieved, however, that Jane was going to be okay. She already felt bad enough for punching him; if it had turned out to have caused him brain damage, then she would have buckled down under all of the guilt.

Dr. Morris handed Jane two pieces of paper. One was a purple brochure, the words "A GUIDE TO CONCUSSIONS" printed in large yellow letters on the front. The second was a prescription for painkillers, complete with his messy doctor's signature.

"The brochure has all sorts of information," he said. "Basically you have to get plenty of rest and stay away from any sort of physical activity for a couple of weeks. Ice can help reduce the swelling, and you may take the standard dose of those painkillers, at a maximum of three dosages per day."

Jane nodded, although he wasn't paying much attention. His stomach had become his brain for the time being, and he was pondering over where to go for food after they were allowed to leave. Lisbon, on the other hand, listened studiously, hanging on to every word.

"He has to stay awake for the next 24 hours, right?" the doctors had told her this many years ago, when it had been Tommy in the hospital and not Jane.

Dr. Morris shook his head. "That used to be the recommendation, but recent studies have proven it false. Mr. Jane does need to be supervised for the next 72 hours, but he is allowed to fall asleep. Even so, you should wake him up every two or three hours to check and make sure nothing has gotten worse." He took the brochure back from Jane and flipped it to a small section. His aged finger pointed out a list to Lisbon. "Get medical attention if he experiences any of the following symptoms."

Lisbon examined the purple thing, and nodded. "72 hours?" she said, hoping that she had somehow misheard him.

The doctor nodded in confirmation. "Yes, 72 hours. And in order for the hospital to release him to you, you'll have to sign this form stating that you will be there to supervise him." He produced a form out of nowhere, and handed it to Lisbon along with a black pen. She mentally sighed and scrawled her signature onto the appropriate lines.

_Great,_ she thought. _/I'm legally stuck with him for three days. I really regret punching him now._

It was around 3 in the morning when they were finally allowed to leave the hospital. Lisbon was exhausted, but Jane was too distracted by pain and hunger to be tired.

They were on the highway again. The pharmacies were closed, so Jane would have to wait until morning to receive the painkillers Dr. Morris had prescribed. Lisbon offered him some ibuprofen from her car's glove compartment, but they did little to ease the pain.

"I need something stronger," he said.

"You'll have to wait." She took her eyes off the road for a quick second to give him a sympathetic glance.

Jane groaned. He fidgeted uncomfortably with the passenger side seatbelt, which Lisbon had forced him to buckle. "Better safe that sorry" was quickly becoming the woman's new mantra. She felt guilty for injuring him, and he could tell that for the next few days she would baby him mad to make up for it.

"Lisbon," he said. "Your Advil is pathetic. Everything still hurts."

"Sorry, Jane, but that's all I have."

His stomach growled loudly. "You're still taking me out to dinner, right? I think some food would help distract me from the pain." He smiled, although she couldn't see it.

In fact, Lisbon had forgotten all about her promise. "It's three in the morning, Jane. Can't we go tomorrow? I have some food at my place."

"Aw c'mon Lisbon, we had a deal."

"I'm really tired, Jane."

"Some food will wake you up! Please?"

"No."

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><p>As always, reviews would be much loved :) Thanks for reading!<p> 


	4. Chapter 5

Sorry this took a while!

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><p>In the end, Jane won her over and got his way. They pulled into an IHOP - pretty much the only restaurant around that was open at 3am. Jane was a big fan of IHOP; Lisbon was indifferent.<p>

There were only two other occupied tables in the restaurant when they arrived. One housed a young couple, probably around their late 20s. The other housed a group of six college kids, cramming for a test while feasting on pancakes.

Jane and Lisbon were seated in a small booth by the window. After ordering tea and coffee, they were left alone to look through the menus. Jane oohed and ahed at practically every item containing blueberries. Lisbon yawned.

"I can't decide what to get," said Jane.

"Close your eyes and point to something," Lisbon replied.

He did just that, and his finger landed on a margarita. "I don't think alcohol's going to do me any good right now."

She laughed. "Me neither."

Jane ended up ordering blueberry pancakes with eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and a dessert of blueberry muffins. Lisbon simply ordered plain pancakes, eggs, and sausage.

"Concussions really do rack up your appetite," Jane said. Lisbon could hear his stomach growling.

"Oh, do they," she replied rhetorically.

"Yeah. Aren't you hungry? You barely ordered anything."

"It's "barely anything" compared to your order, but it's enough for me."

He smiled at her reply. "You know, I'm glad it was you who punched me. If it had been Rigsby, we would be at a McDonald's. If it had been Van Pelt, she would have ordered me a salad. If it had been Cho, I'd probably still be lying on the ground."

Lisbon laughed. "That's very true. Except, you'd probably still be lying on the ground anyways, if it hadn't been for my sudden act of compassion."

"Compassion? Dragging me unconscious through the CBI building is compassion?"

"It is compared to the other option! And you wouldn't wake up, so I didn't have any other choice." She bit her lip as she recalled Jane, lying on the floor and not responding.

"Hmm. Well I guess you have a point," said Jane. His mind scrambled to find a change of subject. "Why didn't you order blueberry pancakes?"

Lisbon stifled a laugh at his attempt to direct the conversation elsewhere. "Because I don't like blueberry pancakes, Jane."

He gave her a pretend look of horror. "We can't be friends anymore."

"I didn't know we were friends in the first place," she replied, playing along.

"So you're telling me that these past seven years have all been just a lie?"

"A lie to you, maybe; I knew the truth all along."

"Oh, Lisbon, how could you? All these years... I thought you were my friend. This is completely devastating."

"I'm sure you'll be fine after your blueberry feast," she said, spotting their server with a tray of food.

Jane's eyes widened in delight as the woman set down their meals. "It all looks delicious," he said.

"Enjoy," said the server.

"I certainly will!" He began pouring various syrups all over his pancakes, disregarding the labels completely. Lisbon, on the other hand, inspected each one closely, with such precision that one would think she was searching for poison.

"What's the holdup, Lisbon?" Jane said in-between mouthfuls of food. "Just pick one! Or five."

He was wolfing down his food in a manner that reminded her of Rigsby. "Don't eat so fast," she said. "You'll puke."

He slowed down a little, but not enough to make a difference. "I haven't eaten since two," he justified.

"Me neither, but you don't see me swallowing everything in sight."

"Oh be quiet, woman, and eat your pancakes!"

She refrained from stomping on his foot, instead substituting it with rolling her eyes. Then she poured maple syrup on her pancakes, and began cutting them into little pieces before eating.

"This is good," she said after a couple of bites.

"Well of course it is," said Jane. "Haven't you been here before?"

"Not really."

"First blueberry pancakes and now this? Lisbon dear you are a disgrace," he waved his fork at her accusingly.

"Oh hush," she replied, cutting up the rest of her food.

They ate the remaining of their meal in silence, save for the occasional witty remark. Afterwards Lisbon was stuffed, but Jane insisted on ordering a chocolate sundae to share. "A meal isn't complete without ice cream," he argued.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time they left the restaurant. After drinking nearly three cups of coffee, Lisbon was more alert than before. But she was still tired.

Jane turned on the radio to keep the both of them awake. Browsing through the stations, he ended up at a rap one. Lisbon hated rap. But it was loud and obnoxious - just the thing to keep them awake - so she didn't complain. It was also rather amusing listening to Jane's attempts to rap along.

"_You can try and read my lyrics off of this paper before I lay 'em  
>But you won't take the sting out these words before I say 'em<br>Cause ain't no way I'ma let you stop me from causing mayhem  
>When I say I'ma do something I do it<br>I don't give a damn what you think  
>I'm doing this for me<em>"

Fifteen minutes later, he looked back in surprise as Lisbon's car zoomed past the highway exit leading to his motel. "Lisbon, you skipped the exit."

She turned to look at him. "That wasn't the exit."

"Yes it was. Exit 242B. My motel's ten minutes away from there."

Lisbon let out a little laugh. "Jane, you're not going back to your motel."

"Why not?"

She reached into her jacket pocket and tossed him a folded piece of paper. Jane straightened it out and saw that it was the form the hospital had made her sign.

"I signed that thing, so we're stuck together for the next 72 hours. And I'm not going to spend them at your shabby motel."

He was surprised. "You're actually going to go through with it? I thought you signed it just so they'd let us leave."

"Nah. You're my responsibility. Plus you have to have someone wake you up every 2 hours, remember?"

"Oh. Right." Jane knew he could set an alarm to wake himself up. Or, he could just not sleep at all. Insomnia usually kept him up anyways. But he didn't argue with Lisbon - partly because he knew he wouldn't win, and partly because he'd rather stay with her at her place than alone in his "shabby" motel.

"Your place it is," he said.

She was both surprised and relieved at his cooperation.

They pulled into Lisbon's driveway a few minutes later. It was a single-story brick house, located in a quaint neighborhood not too far from the CBI headquarters. The window shutters were painted a fresh forest green, along with the door. The yard contained no flowers, but the grass was cut and trimmed neatly. The exterior of the house gave a clean, cozy impression.

The interior, however, was a different story. One would think that Lisbon's orderly tendencies at work would also travel with her to her home, but that was not the case. Her house was anything but orderly. Dirty dishes lined the kitchen sink, some still left on the table in a hurry. Unfolded laundry was crammed into a basket in the middle of the living room. Chairs were out of place. Blankets were sprawled on the sofa. Various case files and papers were scattered all over the house.

"Sorry it's messy," she said as she unlocked the door. Her apology wasn't actually necessary - Jane had been to her house many times before and had seen it in even worse conditions.

After disposing their shoes in the front hall closet, Lisbon led Jane into the living room. She kicked the basket of laundry off to the side of the room, away from view, and gestured towards the dark green sofa.

"The sofa can pull out into a bed," she said, pulling a lever and transforming it into just that. "It's a little stiff, though."

Jane sat down on the mattress and bounced. She was right - it didn't make for a very comfortable bed. "It's fine," he lied.

"Liar." She sat down next to him and bounced too. "Forget it. Only a Flintstone could sleep on this thing. It'll kill your back."

"Nah, I'll be fine."

"No, you can have my bed. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Really, Lisbon, I'll be fine." Lisbon was already babying him enough - Jane didn't want to take her bed from her too.

"No you won't. Your back is already sore. It'll get worse. You'll spend the whole day tomorrow complaining about the pain. I'll probably punch you again."

"I won't complain, I promise!"

"I'm sleeping on the sofa and you're sleeping on the bed. That's that."

Jane sighed. "If you insist, woman."

"Good." She got up. "My brothers keep some of their clothes here for whenever they come to visit. I think you might be able to fit into some of James' stuff."

Jane nodded. "Thanks, Lisbon."

"Yeah. I'll go get them. You go brush your teeth or something.. there's a pack of new toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet."

"The one under the sink?"

"No, the one near the mirror."

"Oh, okay." He stumbled off into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes gingerly. It hurt just for him to touch his face, she realised. Another pang of guilt hit her. She rushed away down the hall, shaking the thought from her mind.

Lisbon's bathroom was apparently spared from the messy state that engulfed the rest of her house. Everything was spotless, and even the air had a pleasant tint of cinnamon to it. Unlike Jane's motel bathroom, which blinded him with it's fluorescent lights every night, the lights were warm and slightly dimmed. The walls were dark green, as well as the shower curtains and floor mats. It was easy to see her affinity for the color.

A pack of unopened toothbrushes was located in the wooden cabinet attached to the wall, as Lisbon had said. Jane tore away the cardboard packaging and chose a yellow one. He couldn't help but feel a little odd in Lisbon's house. Jane had visited dozens of times before, but he had never stayed the night, let alone venture past her living room. Lisbon was a very private person. He felt like an intruder just by using her toothpaste. Jane wondered if she would have felt the same if their roles had been reversed. Lisbon probably would have been even more jittery than he was.

He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when she knocked on the door. "Got your clothes," she said, her voice muffled.

He spit quickly, and opened the door. Lisbon had already changed into a loose gray t-shirt, which stopped just above her knees. Barely visible under that were a pair of black shorts. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.

"These might be a little too big for you," she said, handing over a pile of clothes. "It's not my fault you're short, though." She smirked a little to let him know that she was joking.

"Jeez, Lisbon. You've given me enough physical bruises. Are those not enough? Now you have to beat me up emotionally, too?" Jane pretended to look hurt. "I'm not _that_ short."

"You're the shortest man I know," she said. "Now hurry up and rinse your teeth, the toothpaste is running out of your mouth." She waved him back into the bathroom and closed the door.

"You're a cruel, heartless woman," he called from the other side.

"Yeah, yeah."

James' clothes turned out to be a little big on Jane, but not by much. The only adjustment he needed to make was to roll up the waist on the basketball shorts to keep them from falling off. Other than that, he was fine. The white t-shirt was loose, but it wasn't much of a bother.

After he finished washing his face, Jane made sure to wipe down the sink counters and mirror. Not quite sure what to do with it, he left his toothbrush in the holder next to Lisbon's. He didn't leave the bathroom until he doubled-checked to make sure that it was as spotless as it had been before.

He found Lisbon in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of milk. Upon seeing him enter, she grabbed another glass from the cabinet and poured him some, too. "Here," she said, handing it to him.

"Thanks." Jane didn't really care for milk, but he was thirsty. He drank it up quickly.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked him. She was watching him closely, and he could tell that she was trying to detect any lying.

"Does what still hurt?"

"Anything."

"Well, physically it hurts, yeah. Emotionally, too. I think I need a therapist."

She reached out to smack him on the arm, but stopped herself. "Do you want any more painkillers?"

"Yeah, but only if they're stronger than your wimpy little Advil pills."

"Well you're outta luck because that's all I have."

"I'll just spend the night screaming in pain, then."

"You do that." She took the empty glass from him and washed it along with hers in the sink.

Jane took the opportunity to go through her kitchen. He found various flavors of coffee in the cabinets, but no tea bags. The refrigerator was nearly bare. The pantry was packed with cereals, and boxes of microwave noodles.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Woman, how do you _live_? Surely you cannot survive on this food!"

She rolled her eyes. "I manage perfectly fine, thank you very much."

He poked her in the ribs. "No wonder you're so thin. We need to get some real food into you. First thing we do tomorrow is go grocery shopping."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Stop thinking about tomorrow. You're not going to be able to do anything unless you get some rest first."

He followed her out of the kitchen, past the living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom. It was also green, as expected. The bed was unmade, but it wasn't too messy. Two other doors were situated on the far left side of the room. One led to the bathroom, she explained. The other led to her closet.

Jane was more intrigued about the latter. What did Lisbon own besides her endless supply of blazers and button-up shirts? His initial feeling of displacement inside her house was suddenly replaced by curiosity.

Lisbon pointed to her bed. "Sleep," she ordered. "I'll wake you up in two hours to check on you."

"I still think that I should sleep on the couch," he protested.

"Too bad," she replied.

Jane held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Good night, Lisbon."

"Good night, Jane."

Ironically, it was a quarter past five. It wouldn't be long until the sun rose.

Lisbon was exhausted. Her eyelids drooped, yearning to be closed. Yawning, she curled up on the sofa and set her phone's alarm to go off at 7:30. Her head was crowded with things to think about - like what had happened earlier that night with Jane. But she was too tired to think. Forcing all of her issues out of her mind, she was finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! :)<p> 


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